


Lady Sansa’s Lover

by stargategeek



Series: Lady Sansa and the Gamekeeper [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1920’s AU, F/M, Flowers, Frolicking, Ladyship, Pubic Hair, Romance, Rough Sex, Sex in the woods, Sexy Gardening Talk, gamekeeper, in the rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargategeek/pseuds/stargategeek
Summary: Sansa tossed her shift at him, walloping him in the head, knocking him out of his stunned stupor.“If you can catch me, you can have me!” she cried and ran out the door, naked, into the pouring rain.





	Lady Sansa’s Lover

“It’s raining.”

“Mmm it is...”

Sansa rolled over to face him. Unashamed in her unclothed state. Her long bare legs stretched on the blanket he had draped on the floor for her.

He stood at the open door, smoking. A harsher tobacco than what her husband uses, lacking in all the refinement and pomp of the smoking salons in King’s Landing. It was raw and rugged and utterly handsome.

The rain poured in a thick sheet behind his back, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the scar on his bare chest. His trousers hung loose and open on his hips, a few wisps of curly dark man-hair peeking out the bottom of the appealing V of his pelvis. The soft belly moved with each breath, but the rest of him was lean and lithe and still.

Sansa rested her head upon her arm as she watched him finish the cigarette, waving the smoke out the open door. 

Sansa suddenly laughed. He stubbed out the butt on the door jam and looked at her with restrained bemusement.

“What’s got you?” 

“You,” she smiled. His lips pressed together, causing the grey and white facial hairs of his neatly trimmed beard and moustache to bristle. “It’s amusing, that’s all,” she shook her head, averting his gaze. “You change your manner depending on who you are with. With my husband you are as patient as a priest, and act just as humble. With the widow lady down the road, you are like an elder son. With your dog you are master, and with me...” she peered at him from under her eyelashes, willing the heat of a blush to stay off her cheek. “...you are another man entirely.”

Those lips rolled and puckered in that thoughtful way of his. Almost as though he were suppressing a grin.

“Willas says you have a peerage. In Ireland. Holdings and standings just as much as any minor Lord here and yet you are here, acting as a lowly Gameskeeper...with me.”

“With you.” his voice his soft, yet somewhat dark and husky. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Why?” 

He laughed at that. A rough rasp of a sound.

“I think that should be obvious,” he gestured to his unclothed state. 

“That’s not what I meant. You took this post long before you met me, before we started...this.”

Her fingers played with the hem of her shift, tugging it slightly down her chilled thighs. His eyes followed, absorbing the length of her bare pale skin, from her hand down to her ankles, then back up to where the crease of her legs dove under her shift - her secret shelter. 

“The life of a minor Lord is a life of constant preening. Preening to the higher lords, and hosting their whims and setting out the best whiskey, on the hopes that your hospitality will elevate you in their eyes. Preening to the lower classes around you with charity and good work for their husbands and sons to do to keep them all fed, and you must show your hand because you are not so far from them, truly. You were one of them once. You are no one. You are never seated fully in either camp, even with all your wits and manners and good works. I tried to live that life before the war, now I...I want a life on my own merits.”

“And your wife?”

The warmth in his expression dulled somewhat.

“She enjoys the luxuries and privileges of being a woman of means. She makes good use of her income and my name - she doesn’t care a wit about me, and I can’t stand her. Her type, they aren’t real women. Just a hollowed out husk in the shape of one. Not like you.”

Sansa rolled over onto her back her eyes still on him - smiling.

“Am I real woman?” she teases. Her legs fall open just that small fraction. 

“Oh yes,” his voice darkens. Thunder rolls in the distance. He looks like a devil in the dim light of the hut. “Besides, I like having something to do with my hands.“

Sansa laughed, hiding her blush in the crook of her arm. 

Petyr looked over her, lit up by the lightning and the red of the fire from the stove. 

“I like all of you,” he says gutterly. “All the dips and curves. Everything.” 

Sansa stopped in her giggling, swallowing the thick, rain-scented air - tainted by their sex and passion. His belly moved significantly with each breath, betraying his unaffected air. Sansa elegantly slithered up to her knees, coming eye to eye with the open part of his breeches. Her eyes flitted up from his open pants to his darkening gaze, staring down at her in restrained wonder.

“I like all of you too.”

She pressed a kiss to the soft sensitive flesh of his belly. Then another to the protruding bone of his hip, then one last one to the junction of his V, right above the fabric of his trousers - tantalizingly close to his cock. 

“Especially this,” she looked up to him again, shifting herself forward to press a kiss to the edge of his long pink scar, bisecting his strong, lean chest. 

One of his hands gently wove into her hair, clasping the back of her neck as she dragged her tongue from the tip of his scar to his navel, swirling it around before sinking her teeth into the swell of his abdomen. He gasped, tugging her hair a little in reprimand. She giggled, pulling away from him. 

“Kiss me,” not so much a request as a plea. He obliged, lowering to his knees to take her in his arms.

His kiss was as a parched man in a spring. He drank down the small sighs and moans she gave as his hands wandered beneath her hem and over her breasts. 

She clasped his narrow shoulders, nails biting into the skin a little, but he only pulled her closer, shifting her delicate body onto his knees, up against the stiffening hardness in his crotch. He dragged her legs out from under her and wrapped them sensuously around his waist, his hips rocking against her in eager anticipation. He knew this dance well with her by now. Their affair. The high-born lady and her low-born Lover. 

With practiced ease he sidled them down to the floor, her back on the blanket as his body continued to slither against her. His kisses turned indulgent and lazy, moving from lips to the long juncture of her neck, and back again. 

Those hands, those strong, confident, devilish hands caressed every part of her. A rough squeeze to her breast under the hem of her shift, her ribs, the soft roundness of her belly. He lifted his head up from her neck with a barely concealed groan, lips close enough to kiss again.

“And what of your husband?” the breath from his mouth landed moist upon her cheeks. She felt his hand drag up then hem of her shift and those devilish fingers cup her womanhood. “Are you this way with him?” he groaned, his middle finger slipping inside her. Sansa sighed and flushed with embarrassment. His finger did not move within her, but she couldn’t help her body moving of its own accord, rocking into his hand, seeking more of him. “Does he touch you like this?” 

Sansa met his dark eyes, and in this moment, in the haze of lightning and lust, they seemed as open and yielding as a child’s. 

“You know he doesn’t,” she stilled her body long enough to open herself just as wide for him. “Only you. Only you.”

His hand left her cunt, leaving a wanton ache in her at its absence. That hand came to cup her cheek, the slickness coating his finger transferring to her skin as he bent down to kiss her deeply. Sansa clasped his bare back to her, their skin melting against each other. No one could provoke as much desire within her with a single touch than this man could. In the dark secret leisure of their little love-hut in the woods, she was neither lady nor him low. They were each other. Together. The same beast in manners of love-making.

With all her strength she managed to turn them over so he was the one on his back and she draped wholly over his lean torso. He held her to him and kissed her neck, her collarbone, any part of her that was within reach.

“Sansa, Sansa,” he sighed between kisses. Like a prayer. She was a goddess in his arms - and he a willing supplicant at her womanly altar. 

Sansa giggled at the thought, pulling out of his arms. She placed a hand on his chest to keep him down as she shifted on to her haunches, crouched over his thighs. His cock bulged against the fabric of his trousers - still loose at the top, they’d shifted down during his descent to the floor. She could just see the dark pink flush of him under the dark tuft of hair covering his base. 

Sansa was unabashed - she loved to look at him, in all his states of undress. Taking hold of the open flies of his trousers she peeled him open like the skin of an orange, revealing the succulent fruit. She suppressed a giggle again, what would he think if he heard her thoughts about him? A sampling of fruit and nuts. Ambrosia for goddesses. 

Beside the blanket was the bundle of wild flowers she had picked before the rain had come upon them, trapping her here in the arms of her lover. She plucked a wild pansy from the small bundle, admiring its long stem. 

A wicked gleam came to her eyes as a mischievous thought crossed her mind. Wouldn’t he look lovely with a crown of flowers? Yes, but on which head?

She pressed the pansy to her nose and laughed.

“I love your cock,” she murmured, seeing the question crossing his eyes. “I should like to have it knighted.”

“So that it may always stand at salute?” he teased, his face breaking with a handsome lopsided grin. 

“Yes. At my pleasure.”

“It could rise to no other occasion.”

The rain still poured, the drops creating a rhythmic sound on the roof of the hut. 

With the long-stemmed pansy she began to weave it in the curly hairs around his base, creating a wreath around his cock. 

“If it is to be knighted, it must be properly dressed,” she giggled, pulling more flowers from the bundle and weaving them into the wreath. He laughed, enjoying the little teasing brushes her hand made to the sides of his cock as she creates her little flower crown. 

By the time she had woven all of the small bundle of flower into his hair he was fully erect, his laughs turning to soft sighs. She sat back to admire her handiwork, though her face dropped into a frown. It was not quite crown-like, she’d not had enough flowers. 

“Is he to your liking?” Petyr shifted his hips in an enticing manner. He needed her, she had teased him quite enough.

Another wicked thought crossed her mind.

“I need more flowers.”

Petyr groaned. “I need you!”

Sansa pulled away from him before he could grasp her and drag her against him. She was at her feet running to the entrance of the hut, throwing the door wide open. 

“You can’t go out there, it’s still raining!” Petyr sat up, his trousers trapped around his thighs inhibiting his movements. 

Indeed it was. A peel of thunder sounded in the distance to add punctuation to his remark. Thunder, the rumbling advocate for men and their cocks. But she was the goddess of lightning, and would do as she pleased. 

“If you want me, you must catch me,” she grinned, tossing her red hair behind her shoulders.

“You’ll be soaked, sweetling.”

Sansa looked down at her shift, it’s thin delicate fabric. He was right, in a way, she wouldn’t want it to be ruined. 

Without another thought she grabbed the hem and brought her entire shift over her head in one swift movement, leaving her naked as a newborn to his hungry gaze.

Petyr’s words fell dead in his mouth. Swallowed by the storm of awe in his breast. God, she was the most beautiful creature.

Sansa tossed her shift at him, walloping him in the head, knocking him out of his stunned stupor. 

“If you can catch me, you can have me!” she cried and ran out the door, naked, into the pouring rain. Her laughter peeled through the rain and thunder like a clanging bell. 

Having recovered from his shock at her brazenness, her sudden fearlessness, he got to his feet and tore his trousers from his legs, careful not to dislodge too many of the flowers from his pubic hair. 

The rain was cold on his warm skin, and the rain blurred his vision and mottled all of his sense. Her laughter was like the mating call of a rare bird, and he it’s desperate mate. In periphery he saw the flash of red amongst the grey and green. 

His cock acted as pointer dog to his lust. Once he found her he would have her. 

“Petyr!” she called.

His chest heaved. 

“Sansa!”

She laughed again. He followed the sound. Through the trees and the patches of wild flowers and the long, long grass. 

He crouched down like a hunting tiger. Red again. She was standing in a clearing, arms open, palms up to catch the falling drops; her mouth fell wide and her tongue stuck out to drink from mother Gaia’s holy spring. She looked like a forest nymph, a pagan rain goddess, her red hair turning into streaks of bright blood clinging to her back and buttocks. 

Petyr would be the only one to see her like this. To everyone she was quiet and reserved, chained down by propriety - but in the sanctity of their woods, in the rain, he could have her wild and untamed and free-spirited.

He pounced, from his hidden spot among the bushes and caught her about the waist. She shrieked in delight, feigning an attempt to escape him.

The hand about her waist tightened, pulling her back hard against his chest. Her half-hearted struggling gave way to the warm security of his arms and the two fell to the ground. Sansa’s hands caught her before she reached the ground and she shifted as though to get away again. 

“No, no!” he hissed, pinning her back to his chest. Sansa sat back on her haunches, breathing heavily - he could feel the movements of her lungs against his abdomen. “I’ve got you,” he breathed against her ear, kissing her neck and shoulders, as though trying to devour her. “Fair and square.”

“Yes,” she relented.

“I can have you, you said,” he panted, the need for her strong within him. “Can I have you?“

She could already feel him, prodding against her backside. Would he take her out here, like a wild animal?

“Yes,” she nodded against him. “You can have me.”

Petyr plunged into her barely seconds after the words left her mouth. The force of it knocking the wind right out of her and she fell forward. His hand moved to her breast to hold her up, as her hand shot out to stabilize her on the muddy ground. Petyr groaned loudly, louder than she’d ever heard him before as he snapped his hips back and surged into her again. The chord he struck in her had her crying out, the sound lost in the sacred circle of trees, drowned out by the rain. He moved in her again, the slap of her wet backside against his pelvis was delectable. His free hand fell on hers on the ground, and their fingers intertwined, the only human connection in what was a rather animalistic rutting on the forest floor. 

She adored it, adored him - for taking chase out in the woods, in the pouring rain - for catching her, and for making her feel utterly wild and possessed. It was everything she had wanted and he was everything.

She heard the almost pained hitch in his voice as he roughly slammed his crowned cock through her flowered cunt. The warmth of his chest pressed protectively over her back shielded her from the cold sting of the rain, and his cheek fell against her shoulder, his hot breath escaping with every thrust and ghosting against her neck.

Sansa had never felt so alive as she was in this moment, being taken like an animal from behind, nature surrounding them in their carnal dance.

“Uh!” Petyr grunted. “Sansa...”

No! No names. They weren’t people. They were creatures, of nature and of lust, held back by none of the follies of man or society. The only thing they answered to was the hungry call of their own bodies. She wanted him to call her by her nomenclature. Sansa-us Cunt-us, and he Petyr-us Cock-us. Two unlike creatures who came together so beautifully even the sky wept for them.

Petyr continued to pound into her, his pace furious, yet she felt he could not be a more perfect fit for her. Each harsh press of him brought her closer to the white-hot perfection she had thought she was denied the moment she’d said “I do”. 

“I love -“ she began to say before the blinding white heat took over her and she cried out. 

She came so completely she was absolutely insensible, she was unable to tell if he had come as well or not. 

Petyr was still there - still inside her, when she came back to earth, floated back inside her body. He breathed heavily against her back, heaving breaths. He must’ve come. If she thought about it she could feel his seed pooling inside her. 

After a moment he came back to life as well, his hand squeezing her breast as if to assure himself that she was real. He dropped several kisses on her bareback.

“Let’s get you inside before you freeze to death.”

The cold didn’t bother her, but she knew he was prone to pneumonia. 

Her legs were jelly and she leaned heavily against him as they made their way back to the hut. 

He dried her off using an old towel and stuck a few more logs in the stove so that she could warm herself. After he had taken care of her he stepped outside again and was gone for a few minutes. 

When he returned he carried a bundle of wild flowers and foxtails, honeysuckle and wysteria branches. 

Sansa laughed. 

“My knight!” she cried and kissed his cock, her original crown of flowers partially crushed from their rutting.

Petyr wove the wild flowers into a crown using the wisps of wysteria as a wreath. The foxtails he wove into the hair that lay drying over her perfect breasts, with every movement of her head they tickled her nipples. In her red woman-hair he wove white pansies and wild daisies, creating a garden. With the remaining flowers she completed her crown for his cock and wove some wysteria and honeysuckle into his coal black hair. 

After they had crowned each other Sansa lay down again on the blanket and Petyr lay on top of her. They kissed lazily, letting the fire warm their rain-chilled skin. 

“When the rain stops they’ll come looking for you,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to the softness of her breast.

“Imagine they found us like this,” Sansa sighed dreamily. “What would they think? The mistress of High Garden has gone mad. She’s confused herself for a strand of ivy and wrapped herself around the Gameskeeper’s cock!”

Petyr enjoyed her playfulness and kissed her.

“You look utterly pagan with my flowers in your hair.”

“Oh, I do make quite the heathen don’t I?”

Petyr laughed.

“The pair of us,” he kissed her again.

Sansa stopped laughing, her eyes taking on that dream-like quality again. 

“Us? A pair?”

Something in Petyr’s chest twinged. Us. It was a lovely fantasy, wasn’t it? Even lovelier than the fairy goddess and her naked Puck.

Sansa stroked his hair, coaxing him back to her. “You do love me, don’t you?”

Petyr sighed. “How could you possibly think otherwise.”

Sansa didn’t even blink. Her eyes were as bottomless as the sea.

“I almost said it back there, in the woods, when I...” she bit her lip. “I almost said I loved you.”

“What stopped you?” his voice dropped to a whisper.

“I was overwhelmed...but if I could’ve held on a moment longer I would’ve said it. I love you Petyr.”

An odd look broke his expression, neither joy or disappointment exactly. But something told her that it had been the right thing to say.

“You are a goddess,” he whispered, cupping her breast again and kissing her. “My little woodland nymph.”

Sansa laughed, tugging his hair. “Say it.”

He ignored her, shifting her hips into alignment with his and fitting his cock into her once more. Sansa sighed, letting him rock their hips together.

“Say it,” she pleaded again.

Petyr moved slower this time - taking his sweet time, dragging his cock out of her almost to the tip before slowly sliding back in. He coaxed her legs to wrap around his flank and she obliged despite his refusal to oblige her. He felt too good to resist.

His thrusts were leisurely, and his kisses even more so. His tongue dipped into her mouth in time to his cock dipping into her cunt, fucking her, flowers and all with a warm, lazy delight. 

At some point the rain had ceased, and even then, he went on with his indulgent pace. It was in such contrast to the way he had taken her in the woods. Devoid of the rough animalistic need and the harsh claiming of each other’s bodies. When Petyr kissed her this time he sought to claim her soul, completely, if only for this moment in this hallow space. 

“Say you love me,” she sighed blissfully, as he touched a place so deep within her. “Please. I need...I need to hear it from you.”

He groaned, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as a tremor of exquisite pleasure rang through him. When he opened his eyes they were deep and green as the forest they had fucked in. Deep and rich and full of her.

“Of course,” his breath hitched, rocking her deeper in to him. He moved a drying strand of her hair off her face, and wrapped it around his fingers. “Of course, I love you. No woman has ever made me feel the way you do. Has felt so perfect for me in everything. Everything. God, the way you fit me...”

He was rambling, he knew it. The pleasure he had been working them towards with his measured pace was building so to rob him of all sense.

“I love you, Sansa. Cunt and soul.”

She laughed, bemused by his vulgarity in making such a sincere statement. It made it all the more earnest. 

He shifted on to his elbows, grunting. “Sansa...I’m...”

The accommodation of this new position had them racing each other to the end. Petyr leaned down and kissed her, taking her breath straight from her lungs as they fell off the edge within seconds of each other. His cries of ecstasy sweetening the breath of hers. 

He collapsed and she caught him, cradling him between her legs as her buried his face into the crook of her neck. Her arms wove around his bareback, her legs around his hips, like the flowers woven into their hair. 

They dressed in silence, stealing little smiling glances at each other in between the rolling of stockings and the tying of flies. 

They managed to get most of the flowers out of each other’s hair and with an old ivory tooth comb got Sansa’s hair back into a presentable state.

Petyr lit up one of his harsh cigarettes using the stove, and Sansa was struck again by how rugged and handsome he looked, even fully dressed. She took the cigarette from his lips and wove her hands around his neck. 

“Yes milady?” he grinned, teasing her with his gameskeeper’s address.

“I have a request for you Mister Baelish,” she said affected with a lady of the house air.

“Anything your ladyship.”

“There is a secret garden in my property that is far too barren, far too barren!”

She took a drag from the cigarette to help suppress the grin threatening to break over her face.

“Oh? Shall I have it tended?”

Sansa laughed, taking another drag.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is in constant need of attention.”

“Shall I till and soil it for you, Ladyship?”

Sansa felt his hand graze the rounded curve of her ass fondly. 

“I’ve heard you’ve got good hearty seed.”

It was his turn to laugh - it came spluttering from his mouth like an ill used fountain.

“That I have.”

“I should have you plant your seed in my secret garden. Quite often, to ensure that it takes.”

She handed him the cigarette for him to take a puff. He inhaled it with relish.

“That can be arranged, your ladyship.”

“You’re the only man I want in my garden,” she whispered, finishing off the cigarette and stubbing it out on the windowsill.

Petyr kissed her deeply and extricated himself from her arms to grab his rifle from where he had rested it against the wall. 

“They’ll be sending the search dogs for you if you stay another minute, as much as I would like to continue our conversations on gardening.”

Sansa nodded, grabbing her coat and stepping out into the warming sunlight of the later afternoon. The rain clouds had passed and the bright blue sky was just peeking beyond the canopy of trees.

“If anyone asks I was caught in the storm and took shelter in the Gameskeeper’s hut. You collected me once the rain passed.”

“Simple as that,” he tried not to sound bitter. It was necessary for now.

He got her to the gate that separated the manicured lawns of High Garden Manor from the surrounding woodland. They were still out of sight of the house, so Petyr quickly grabbed Sansa by the arm and spun her towards him, capturing her in one last searing kiss. The gun dropped to the ground as his hands snatched under her dress to touch her womanhood, to coat his fingers with her so that he could smell her cunt as he brought himself off to the memories of her tonight, and every night until she was with him again. So that she would continue to feel him even as she returned to the world of luxuries and repression she was forced to live. 

She sighed. “Petyr, someone will see. I must go back.”

He relented and let his hand leave her cunt to cup her face. 

“I do love you, you know.”

Sansa smiled.

“I do.”

Sansa kissed him sweetly. 

“Good, good. I want you to remember the feel of me inside you, until time comes when I can have you again.”

“You forget already Mister Baelish,” she smirked. “My Garden is not going to till itself.”

She laughed and stepped through the gate, shutting it behind her. She grabbed him by his lapel from over fence and kissed him one last time. 

The kiss was too brief, and she broke away with a teasing laugh. She was too far for him to reach and she began to ran away up to the manor; her laughter following her, much like it had when he had chased her in the rain.

If you can catch me you can have me.

And he was already, wholly, and completely hers.

**Author's Note:**

> So I just finished reading Lady Chatterley’s Lover, and I was entranced. And then the inspiration bug bit, and I wrote this. A fun little departure from my normal mode of writing - a dirty little romp in the woods! 
> 
> We’ll call it an experiment. I like experiments. 
> 
> Possibly more to come if y’all want more...just saying...that bug bit and it bit hard.


End file.
